


Silver Needle

by Arukou



Series: Tumblr Archive [41]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drabble, Fashion AU, M/M, Non-powered AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-25 18:19:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7543063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arukou/pseuds/Arukou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the modeling world, Steve sees all kinds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silver Needle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MusicalLuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusicalLuna/gifts).



> Originally posted [here](http://arukou-arukou.tumblr.com/post/140893835206/musicalluna-ive-been-watching-too-much-project).
> 
> Inspired by MusicalLuna's demand an intimate moment between fashion designer Tony and model Steve.

If you had told thirteen-year-old Steve Rogers that one day he was going to be a model, thirteen-year-old Steve Rogers would’ve laughed in your face and then told you not to make fun of people. And maybe started a fight with you.

But at twenty-two, barely scraping by with his commissions and desperate for some extra income, Natasha Romanov had bumped into him on the street, looked him up and down, and handed him a mysteriously classy card with a stylized hourglass on it and an offer for a well-paying job.

There were things about modeling he liked. He liked doing high fashion shoots, where the photographer had a vision beyond selling the next new trend. He liked admiring the fine fabrics and the exquisite cuts they dolled him up in. But then there were things he didn’t like, too. Natasha was a great agent, but the directors on set could be real pieces of work. Johann Schmidt had once insisted that if Steve was going to be photographed, he’d have to be painted red head to toe. One phone call to Natasha had set that straight, but thinking about it still gave Steve the heebee-jeebees.

And then there were the designers. Most of them were…characters. His first runway, Steve had worked with Phil Coulson, who insisted on putting Steve in nothing but spandex. After the show, Natasha had said, “Congratulations to your future partner. I’ll talk to Phil about letting you wear underwear next time.” Steve tried not to think about how there were still pictures floating around for anyone to see his…well, anyway. That had been an experience.

And then there were the divas. Loki—just Loki, no last name—was always such a prick about his pieces. He hovered over fashion shoots, nitpicked catwalks, and had, on multiple occasions, stabbed Steve with a sewing needle while doing last minute fittings and adjustments. Steve was convinced those were never accidental, and there were rumors amongst other models that Loki believed a little bit of blood made his fashions better. Never his own blood of course.

But the first time Steve worked with Tony Stark, that was when he witnessed true genius, true craftsmanship. Tony’s clothes were always on the cutting edge, integrating new technologies, experimenting with non-traditional materials, cut in daring lines that hadn’t been seen in men’s fashion…ever. And when he fit his models…

Steve understood his place in the pecking order. Photoshoots and catwalks were never about him. They were about the clothes. He was the canvas and the clothing was the paint and his job was to show off that paint by fading into the background. But sometimes it was damn dehumanizing, being a living doll for assholes like Loki and Schmidt. 

Tony was never like that, though. He treated Steve like he was more than just a backdrop. He asked Steve about his life during fittings, listening attentively. Steve’s first shoot in Tony’s clothes, he’d assumed it was just small talk while Tony worked. And oh how he worked. He was a lightning fast sewer, the needle flashing in his hands like the LED lights that flickered at the hem of the trousers he was adjusting. Steve would’ve been content just to watch that without speaking at all.

The next time he came in for a Stark photoshoot, though, Tony asked after Bucky and mentioned he’d looked at Steve’s portfolio online. He complimented him and asked if Steve would be interested in doing some freelance logo design for the label. It wasn’t just Steve either. Later on, Steve heard Tony asking Pepper how her dog was doing as he pinned a long line of white chiffon down her back. And then after that asking Thor how Jane was getting on in London.

Tony had a public persona of being an asshole, but the more Steve worked for Stark label, the more it became apparent that that was all for the paparazzi and not a lick of it was true. At least not for people Tony deemed worthwhile. And it was a strange feeling to know that Steve was one of those people, but he liked it. It made him feel warm down in his belly, like mom’s chicken soup.

He did six photoshoots for Stark Fashions before he was asked to do runway. Steve didn’t much care for runway. The skinny, dweeby 13 year-old still lurking in his skin didn’t like being seen by all those eyes without ever really being seen, and pre-runway was always a hectic nightmare of split seams and last minute makeup touches. But a job was a job and he liked working with Tony, so he took it. 

And sure enough, ten minutes before walk, it was Steve’s seam that ripped, a shoulder splitting nearly in two when he went to pull on the jacket. Tony saw it happen, and rather than get angry or throw a fit (the way Loki had when Steve’s shoulders had destroyed a tux jacket) he just nodded and bustled over, already dipping into the tool kit at his waist.

“I knew I shouldn’t’ve put you in this jacket,” he murmured, thrusting a sewing needle between his lips as he extracted thread. “I did this one last minute because I knew you were walking and I wanted to make something for you, but my measurements for your shoulders are three months out of date. Oh well. Let’s make magic. Don’t move.”

Steve stood perfectly still as Tony leaned in, sewing the seam back together while it was still on his shoulder. He could feel the ghost of cold metal against his skin, but Tony never once pricked him. As he worked his way around to the front of the seam, his nose was suddenly inches from Steve’s chest and Steve unexpectedly felt warm, almost embarrassed. It only got worse when Tony glanced up and met Steve’s eyes, winking as he pulled the thread one final time and snapped it clean.

He leaned back then to survey his work and the moment was broken. “Good thing this was the raw-edged look,” he said, running his fingers over the purposefully frayed fabric. “Or I would’ve had to send you out shirtless.”

“Rogers!” the stage attendant called from the sidelines. “Follow me.”

Steve put on his game face and followed her out to the catwalk entrance, but he could feel Tony pacing him just behind and to his left. He stepped out into view and walked, proud to be wearing Tony’s clothes, warm with the knowledge that Tony had made this jacket _for him_. 

When he got back, he had a quick change, and he split the seam again, but Tony was still grinning as he pulled the jacket away and handed over a low-cut button-up. “You looked great,” he said as he tied off Steve’s sash, drawing it tight around his waist and artfully draping the trailing ends on the floor.

“Your clothes looked great.”

“Nah. It was you.”

Steve wanted to say something to that, but then he was being dragged back to the walk for the end of the show. He made the final round, watched the rest of the models walk out in front of him for the recap, and then instinctively linked arms with Tony as they walked out together. It felt nice. It felt right.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://arukou-arukou.tumblr.com/) for more fanfiction and nerdery.


End file.
